


study night

by dolus



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Making Out, Recreational Drug Use, Shotgunning, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:55:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22344466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dolus/pseuds/dolus
Summary: Wonwoo questions why he agreed to come over. Soonyoung’s loud, social, far too friendly with strangers, and Wonwoo is just… not. Yet here he is, standing in front of a door he’s not familiar with, nearly twenty-four hours from his biochemistry exam that he should most definitely be studying for.
Relationships: Jeon Wonwoo/Xu Ming Hao | The8
Comments: 16
Kudos: 161





	study night

Wonwoo doesn’t feel in control when he’s mindlessly stepping out of his own dorm room with damp hair, bidding his roommate a quiet farewell. He’s unsure of what force takes over his legs when he sets a quick pace down the hall to the stairwell, farther away from the open textbooks sprawled over his desk. His mind is begging him to go back, to stare at the puddle of size twelve _Times New Roman_ text he was slaving over just a few moments ago, but he can’t.

It’s odd to him that he knows exactly where he’s going despite the fact that dorm room eighty-eight was not one he’d ever seen or even passed. It might be because the past two days since he’s been invited to whatever this escapade was, his anxiety had already figured out a handful of routes he could take to skip any possible chance of him getting lost. It’s amazing what your mind can do when it’s neurotransmitters are a bit off, Wonwoo thinks to himself.

When Wonwoo reaches the stairwell, he’s longingly staring up at the few flights he has to take, wondering whether he should turn around. The memory of sitting in the stiff, sticky desk chair in his dorm has him shooing away any second thoughts he has. It’s not that he wants to go to this party, in fact he couldn’t care less about such social events or drinking until his guts face him in the toilet the next morning. It’s the fact that in the muddled state his brain is currently in, he needs to detach himself from his laptop and far too expensive textbooks before he self destructs like a timed bomb. 

Perhaps that’s why Soonyoung invited him. Wonwoo is a mess during exams, he forgets how to function and he’s pretty sure every time exam season rolls around he beats his previous record of longest time without showering. He most likely looked sickly that day in the library, dark eyes void of life and staring at the same few words on his laptop like they would jump out at him if he looked away. If anything Soonyoung asked him out of pity, probably assuming the lithe boy had gone through some terrible break-up and needed a pick me up.

“Wonwoo?”

It had taken his mind a few seconds to process the fact that his name had been said. The boy leisurely pulled his eyes from the bright screen, looking above the frames that sat gently on his nose and blinked confusingly a few times at the boy in front of him.

“Peptide bonds,” it came out of his mouth suddenly in an empty tone. 

Wonwoo just silently thanks whatever Gods are above for the laugh the blond in front of him lets out, obviously amused by the state the spectacled boy was in. If it weren’t Soonyoung he’s sure his cheeks would be a much harsher tone of red and the embarrassment would have him begging the floor to swallow him up without mercy. 

Instead of commenting on the strange greeting, the small shake of laughter dies quickly and the boy moves on, spurting out information like a fountain. Wonwoo isn’t necessarily paying attention fully as Soonyoung speaks, but he grasps parts here and there and somehow manages to piece together what he’s being asked. It’s enough for him to nod stiffly and agree to the invite without a second thought.

Wonwoo questions why he agreed to come over. Soonyoung’s loud, social, far too friendly with strangers, and Wonwoo is just… _not_. Soonyoung likes to drink and stench his shirts with the smell of nicotine and marijuana the days before a midterm and Wonwoo doesn't. They just aren’t alike. Yet here he is, standing in front of a door he’s not familiar with, nearly twenty-four hours from his biochemistry exam that he should most definitely be studying for. 

The smell of weed is faint, and it makes his nose scrunch slightly. It’s not a smell he isn’t used to, just not one that’s very pleasant to him. It hits harder when a smiling boy with bleached blond hair swings the door open, face flushed with an obvious indication that he’s intoxicated.

“Wonwoo, you came!” Soonyoung beams, hands up in the air with excitement. Wonwoo just smiles smally, unsure of what to respond with.

It’s all awkward. Wonwoo is awkward in new places but typically he can get by. Parties aren't his scene, Soonyoung isn't really his friend, he’s never even held a joint in his hand and the most a red solo cup has held while in his grasp is diet coke with a splash of alcohol. So having the blond boy throw his arm over his shoulders and walk him into his dorm feels weird, but he tries to welcome it.

The room is practically a carbon copy of his own. Four walls, a window, the same boring white tiles and grey floors. The lights above are flickering softly, one of the bulbs threatening to blow any second. A rough bass of an unfamiliar song is pounding throughout the room, and the strangers on the small, aged brown couch are nodding their heads to the beat that follows. 

There’s a bed against the wall, very obviously Soonyoung’s by the state the blankets are in. The sheets are nearly pulled off every corner and the pillow cases are weakly hanging off pillows. Atop the bed, there’s a boy with brown hair, sprawled out over the disaster of blankets, limbs dangling off the edge of the mattress, and Wonwoo can't help but stare at him.

“Here,” Soonyoung says, taking the taller boy’s hand and ungracefully shoving a cup filled with a sloshing brown liquid into it.

“I don't—” Wonwoo turns to him, beginning to protest but is cut off hastily.

“You don't drink? You need to, you look like hell. Besides, it’s just some rum and coke.”

It makes Wonwoo huff out an airy laugh, he can’t argue considering he’s well aware of the near zombie state he’s in. He accepts the drink silently, even bringing it up to his lips to taste the mixture. It’s bitter, and he’s not sure if he likes it or not but considering the jittering in his veins he reasons he could use something to ease the nerves.

Soonyoung saunters off quickly by the time Wonwoo pulls the cup from his face, and his loud voice is easily heard whining to bum another joint off a certain Seokmin. The tall boy stands uncomfortably, observing everyone in the small room, recognizing a few faces from his classes. He’s not sure why his legs are aching but he wants to sit down, at least attempt to get comfortable in the strange setting. The poor ragged three seater couch was not going to fit him along with the ones already seated and a squashed Soonyoung, making the bed or floor his only options. 

The boy is still there, face illuminated by the light of his phone in his hands. Wonwoo swallows the anxiousness that’s crawling up his throat, along with another gulp of his drink and steps towards the bed. He’s not sure where the confidence came from, Wonwoo doesn’t approach people, not regularly and especially not at parties. He wants to blame the alcohol but his drink was most definitely not it, so he decides not to fight it. 

“Can I sit with you?” Wonwoo asks hesitantly when he reaches the stranger.

And god when the brown haired boy drops his phone onto his chest, eyes fluttering to look up at the unknown speaker, it makes Wonwoo’s mouth go dry. He’s pretty. He was pretty a few minutes ago when Wonwoo was standing at the door, conversing with a fried Soonyoung. But now Wonwoo is closer, and his contacts are old so hell his eyesight isn't perfect but it doesn't need to be to see the delicate but sharp features that make the boy so attractive.

“Depends… will you smoke with me?” the stranger inquires with a small cock of his brow and the smallest turn of his lips.

“I don’t really–”

“Let me guess, you don't smoke? Just like I heard you tell Hoshi you don't drink?” he cuts Wonwoo off, grinning as he points to the red cup in the taller’s hands.

Wonwoo opens his mouth to respond, but his mind hasn't even thought of what to reply with. Then he’s being laughed at, and the stranger is sitting up, pulling his long legs to his body and bringing his hand to pat the spot in front of him. The small droplets of ease that flood the taller’s bloodstream allow him to smile in return and take the offered seat.

“Hoshi?” is what comes out of Wonwoo’s mouth as soon as he’s comfortable, leaning against the wall with his feet dangling. 

The boy beside him looks at him confusingly, uncertain of what he’s being asked. He quickly makes a face of realization, lips parting to make a small o shape.

“Means star in Japanese or something, Soonyoung took some buzzfeed quiz about what his stripper name would be when he was high and has demanded we call him that since then.”

Wonwoo stifles a laugh until he can’t keep it in. He bursts out laughing and his shoulders are shaking. He’s unsure of why he’s laughing so hard, perhaps it’s his sleep deprived brain and the tension in his muscles that’s making him react. He doesn't overthink it much when the brown haired boy beside him is laughing as well.

“What’s your name? Not your stripper one,” the stranger questions with a smile, eyes meeting Wonwoo’s unfamiliar ones.

“Wonwoo, you?” 

“Minghao.”

Wonwoo repeats his name in his head, it’s pretty, and foreign, rolls of his tongue nicely despite such. He quickly recognizes the boy to be one of the few Chinese transfers from last semester, a year below him. 

His thoughts are halted as he watches Minghao pull up a black backpack from beside the bed. Nimble hands are unzipping the first small pocket, diving in to pull out a ziplock bag filled with a few rolled joints along with a blue lighter. He’s dragging his finger over each one, deciding which to grab, and honestly it confuses Wonwoo but he watches endearingly. 

He takes in every detail of Minghao as he puts a joint between his pointer and thumb. His finger is haste against the lighter, sparking the flame quickly and bringing it to the tip until a red ember burns into the paper. It’s tantalizing how his lips wrap around the joint, inhaling slowly before pulling it away. There’s few moments, one, two, before he exhales the smoke from his lungs, eyes closed. 

Then Minghao turns to stare back at Wonwoo, and it makes him want to shrink into nothingness, as if he had just been caught committing a crime. There’s something about the way Minghao is looking at him that makes butterflies flurry in the pit of his stomach, and anxiousness stick to his ribcage like gum. It’s sickeningly sweet the feeling he gives him with a single look, and Wonwoo wants so badly to put the blame on how pretty his eyes are, and the length of his dark lashes or the soft curl to his hair. 

He’s got the joint at his lips again, and his eyes are still on Wonwoo’s, looking up through hooded eyelids as he takes another hit. Minghao is showing off, it’s obvious and it makes Wonwoo’s eyes glimmer with wonder. He’s pulling the smoke in his mouth up through his nose, mouth curled up in a cocky little smirk before he blows it out from between his lips once again. 

“You sure you don’t want a hit?” He asks, breaking both their silence and glaring. 

Wonwoo opens his mouth to answer, but his eyes are skipping to the others just a few feet away from him who are already buzzed, having mumbled conversations about what the best cereal is. He almost feels embarrassed to say yes and attempt his first joint in front of everyone else, not sure whether he would die or cry from the shame he’ll feel when he coughs his own lungs up. Minghao picks up on his wavering eyes though, and Wonwoo wants to thank whoever gave him his observational skills.

“We can go to my dorm, a good environment is important for your first smoke anyway,” Minghao says, gently smiling at the taller boy in front of him.

Wonwoo nods far too quickly at the invite, it makes him feel disgustingly ashamed. He’s not sure whether he’s going for the weed now, but he doesn't ponder on the thought for too long before Minghao smiles at him.

The boy is throwing his lighter and baggy of joints back into his bag, zipping it up quickly and slinging it over his shoulder before stretching up. Wonwoo can finally see how small he is, not in height but his waist is narrow, limbs long and slim, toned muscles obvious beneath his ripped jeans. He feels like his brain’s been torched and thrown into a microwave for far too long, his new acquaintance just keeps getting better and he’s already gone into overdrive.

“Finish this and leave Seokmin alone,” Minghao says in a jokingly stern tone, passing his joint off to Soonyoung. 

It’s truly a pitiful sight, the blond is on the ground in front of Seokmin, his head leaning on the other’s thighs. He’s very obviously drunk, with the cup held between his legs noticeably empty, and the way he’s slurring his request for a smoke, it’d take an idiot not to see. Wonwoo just shakes his head with a small laugh as Soonyoung practically wails, trying to hug long legs in an attempt of thanking Minghao for his generosity.

“We’re gonna go smoke a bowl.” Minghao waves to the others, who poorly managed their own farewells in return. Wonwoo downed what was in his cup, throat burning slightly before he followed the other on his way out, silently waving as well despite barely knowing all their names.

The door clicks shut behind them, and Minghao lets out a small giggle. It makes Wonwoo’s chest seize up, and a tint of red graces the tips of his ears along with the skip of his heart.

“Hoshi is going to be _gone_ ,” the Chinese boy huffed out with an amused face. Wonwoo smiles, not because he’s humoured but because Minghao’s face is good looking even when he’s laughing at his intoxicated friend. 

Minghao sets off down the hall, mentioning something about how his own dorm is only a few doors down. Wonwoo is right beside him, listening intently and watching as their strides sync up. He’s content, the anxiety that was riddling his mind seems to have been drowned out. Maybe it’s because there’s a sense of ease to the other boy, comfortability, acceptance, there’s no stress to be different or prove much, and Wonwoo enjoys that, he basks in it.

When Minghao’s opening the door to his own dorm, Wonwoo is quick to notice the second bed. It’s nothing peculiar, he too has a roommate but it’s the question of who that lights up in his brain first. 

“Who’s your roommate?” 

Minghao hums as he’s setting his bag down on his grey comforter, “Jun, he was at Hoshi’s too. He’ll be there all night, I’ve never seen him move when he’s blazed.”

Wonwoo likes that answer. Not necessarily because of the fact that it’s been confirmed they’ll be alone, but because Minghao’s known him for barely an hour and already knows how to reassure him without a second thought. It’s nice, Wonwoo thinks, Minghao is nice.

The dark haired boy hadn't realized he was standing awkwardly by the door until there was a patting sound, beckoning him to take a seat on the neatly made bed. He’s haste in his movements, slipping his shoes off next to Minghao’s and climbing onto the bed. He’s quick to notice the small red, glass pipe in Minghao’s gentle grasp and the pouch of herb in his lap.

He doesn’t comment as Minghao begins to pack the bowl, just watches intently as he did before. He does it swiftly with a carefulness that implies he’s well practiced. He’s repeating the same motion, thumb twitching against his lighter as he holds the warm flame to the pipe. Then it’s to his puckered lips, and Wonwoo doesn’t really pay attention. Not to anything but how Minghao’s eyes are calmly fluttering shut once again, pulling the pipe from his mouth to exhale, smoke curling around his lips and disappearing into the air.

“Just let it go into your lungs, you don't have to hold it for too long,” Minghao explained, turning the glass pipe towards Wonwoo.

He’s hesitant to take it, not afraid just uncertain. Minghao watches the unsettled look that sits on his face, and he inches closer, pressing his knees into Wonwoo’s, leaning forward to peer into the older’s face. The sudden change in distance has Wonwoo’s cheeks dusting with the lightest pink, and he’s dropping his eyes to stare at the boys lips because they’re so close and it keeps him from paying too much attention to the perfume Minghao is wearing.

“Have you ever kissed a boy?”

Wonwoo goes completely red, skin flushing harshly at the sudden question. He wants to cry out in an embarrassingly shy tone that he’s only kissed a few people in all his twenty something years of living. He’s not even sure if his first kiss counts, and honestly he’s perfectly fine with forgetting about it completely given the fact he was a gangly, prepubescent high school freshman. Besides, the very few hookups he’s had he’s never kissed, something about lip locking with a stranger turns him off. But here he is, mind silently begging for the pretty boy he barely knows to kiss him.

“No,” he finally answers quietly, _but I’d kiss you_.

Minghao giggles again, the same soft, pretty giggle he let out earlier. It makes Wonwoo believe someone somewhere signed his death papers, because god he’s practically withering away with how much the boy in front of him is affecting him. The feeling skyrockets, his skin feels like it’s been set ablaze when he feels Minghao climb into his lap, legs on each side of his own.

“Can I kiss you?” Minghao whispers closely to his skin.

Wonwoo wants to say yes, because yes, god, please kiss him, but it comes out as a whimpered please, and then there’s lips on his. It’s filled with need and desperation, but it’s not rough, just full of purpose. His hands are on Minghao’s hips, dull nails barely digging into the waistband of his jeans. It’s making Wonwoo’s bones feel like pop rocks, fizzing with such intensity and now he’s awaiting for them to finally snap. 

Minghao pulls back first, eyes full of lust and lips turned slightly with satisfaction. Wonwoo decides he’s in love with the breathless, lustful look that is drowning the boy’s features. Minghao closes in again, and there’s a kiss on the older boy’s jaw, and another one, they’re hot, burning into his skin.

Wonwoo isn't ashamed when he mumbles out more. His hands are climbing up underneath Minghao’s shirt to grasp the skin of his waist, dragging his fingers down the small of his back. Minghao’s not quick to feed his persistence to continue, he smiles again and nips at his jaw instead.

“I need to get rid of this bowl,” Minghao replies, lips ghosting against the sensitive skin of Wonwoo’s neck, leaving goosebumps in his trail. 

Then he’s pulled away again, beginning to place the pipe down but halts his actions, “Do you want to shotgun?”

Wonwoo’s not sure what that means, the word is foreign to him and the image that comes to mind is most likely not the one that he thinks is what Minghao is implying. His moment of silence is enough for the boy on top of him to fill it.

“I’ll just blow the smoke into your mouth while we kiss,” Minghao explains with a small, simple shrug, but to Wonwoo it sounds unbelievably hot and he’s unimpressed with how quickly he agrees to it all.

The pipes at Minghao’s lips again, the same sound of the flickering flame coming from his lighter filling the room, and then he’s taking another hit. Wonwoo’s licking his lips, tasting the remnants of their kiss as he watches. In a split second, before Minghao has pulled the pipe fully away from his mouth, he’s pressing his chest into Wonwoo’s and his lips are clutching the others in a wet kiss. 

Minghao feels a tongue push at his mouth, urgent to open his lips, and he complies thoughtlessly. Wonwoo’s taking a deep breath, drawing the still warm, smoke from the mouth against his. Far too quickly, Minghao pulls away and lets out what leftover smoke is dancing inside, and the other follows suit. Wonwoo wants to cough, the sensation is undeniably new, odd, and it scratches slightly at his throat but he holds it in. Their eyes are locked through the dispersing fog between them, the younger drowning in the awing look on Wonwoo’s sharp features.

“Again,” Wonwoo’s saying before he can even consider what is coming out of his mouth. Not that he needs to considering he feels amazing, greedy to drag the smoke into his own mouth and the soft skin beneath his fingertips convincing him he doesn't need a second thought.

Flame to weed, the small crackling sound, the flickering of flint, it’s all repeating again. They’re kissing again and Wonwoo thinks it feels better than the last two times, somehow. Their mouths open, and the way that the smoke trails from Minghao’s parted lips to Wonwoo’s is magical. There’s a rush in the taller’s chest when smoke is coming from his nose unexpectedly, and Minghao is pushing his wet tongue into his mouth at the action.

Minghao is not heavy, he’s light like a feather and his touches reflect it. But the way he’s sitting on Wonwoo’s lap, warmth spreading over his thighs because of the excess weight, is driving the poor boy mad. Maybe it's because the haze that’s starting to travel to his head is making every touch feel much stronger, or maybe it’s the fact that he hasn't touched his dick in weeks and it's not like he’s getting laid to compensate for it. Either way, he’s growing more sensitive with each second, the lights starting to burn his eyes, the humming of the air conditioning louder than it was a few moments ago, and Minghao’s skin feels like it’s on fire.

“Again.”

They kissed until their lungs burned, begging for air. Teeth grazed over lips, smoke exchanged from one to another, it was all too much for both of them. Minghao couldn't get over how pretty Wonwoo looked from the high enveloping his mind. The latter didn't argue with it, just as determined to feel the other against him and chase the new euphoria. It’s all muddling his head, and when Minghao is subconsciously grinding his hips into Wonwoo’s, he’s gone fully haywire. 

Wonwoo isn't a high schooler anymore, he’s learned his life lessons on how to keep himself from getting hard from simple things, along with how to last and definitely about what good taste in porn is. But it feels like everything has been thrown out the window and he’s the same boy who just saw a raunchy hollywood sex scene. He’s shamefully horny and his dick is hardening at a pace that trumps his younger self, if he weren't high he’s sure he’d be beyond mortified with himself.

Minghao feels it, and it’s obvious because his hands are trailing from their place on Wonwoo’s shoulders, across his chest and towards his tented sweats. The speed is agonizingly slow, he’s tapping his fingers lightly here and there, grazing his nails over his shirt gently, it’s making the older boy’s head spin. He feels warm, everywhere. His face is full of heat, it’s pooling down into his groin and the pit of his stomach, and his lips feel like they’ve been burned. Wonwoo is convinced he’s on top of the world.

Then there’s a hand cupping his bulge with a gentle squeeze, sickeningly sweet voice asking “Is this okay?” 

“Yeah… yeah it’s perfect,” Wonwoo mumbles in reply, and it is perfect. It feels amazing and there’s still clothing between the two of them, his thoughts running rampant at the idea of how it’ll feel without the barrier of denim.

Minghao nods gently before crashing his lips into the older boys once again, hand squeezing the clothed member. The sudden tightness pulls a small groan from Wonwoo, and his mouth opens into the kiss. The boy atop him just takes the opportunity to slide his tongue over chaste lips, against the others. The wet muscles glide against each other, exchanging the slight tang of Wonwoo’s drink left in his mouth and the faintest flavour of their shared smoke. Wonwoo is moving on autopilot, he’s pulling his mouth away, admiring the glossiness to Minghao’s lips and the thin strand of spit that connects them. Then his hands are dragging the soft material of Minghao’s shirt up his torso, pulling it over his head hastily.

His waist is narrow, stomach toned and skin soft. The older boy can't help but glide his hands over the newly revealed flesh. Wonwoo realizes that when Minghao is letting out a small but shaky breath the boy is just as sensitive, both stuck on a cloud that is only going higher. It spurs the boy on and then he’s rubbing the pads of his thumb over the others nipples to elicit the smallest of sounds.

They’re both in slow motion, on a tall tower of euphoria, but both extremely impatient. Wonwoo wants to see more skin, wants to feel it under his hands and see what sounds it can pull from him. The thought is cut off, the hand in between his legs is gone and leaves the extra heat on his groin slowly subduing. His back is against the mattress, Minghao’s warm palms on his shoulders pressing him into the comforter. There’s a chaste, unsatisfying kiss between the two before his own sweater is being tugged above his head. 

It’s cold, the room is suddenly freezing and his own nipples are hardening, goosebumps rising on his skin along with them. Minghao giggles from above him, and it’s so pretty that Wonwoo temporarily zones out until there’s a mouth against his exposed skin. Warm, wet, hot. It’s confusing, all too much and not enough all at once. Minghao’s trailing his mouth from his chest and down, encircling each pec and taking only a few moments to give a particular harsh suck here and there, the smallest graze of his teeth accompanied. He’s slotting the smallest, gentlest kisses just above Wonwoo’s waistband, peering up with his shimmery eyes. Wonwoo just watches and feels, hands curling into the sheets.

Minghao is making quick work of his jeans next, quickly unbuttoning, unzipping and hooking his fingers into the belt loops to tug. Wonwoo lifts his hips as the dark washed denim is dragged down his slim thighs. Before they’re fully off, there’s lips already mouthing at his bulge, splotching the cotton of his briefs darker here and there. He’s letting out a low moan, failing to catch it in his throat. Wonwoo’s skin is sparking with Minghao’s touch, mimicking the stuttering flame of a lighter. The room that had just felt like a walk in freezer now imitating a sauna, making the soft scrapes on Minghao’s nails against that side of his thighs burn.

“Minghao…” Wonwoo is murmuring softly, cheeks a dusty pink and mouth dry. He can’t say anymore because all his cloudy brain is doing is chanting for the boy between his legs.

The sound of his name coming off the other’s tongue in a tone that is sopping with want, need, makes him move hurriedly. Jeans are fully discarded and tossed to the floor, boxers getting the same treatment. Wonwoo’s cock is resting against his lower abdomen, fully hard and head flushed pink. Minghao takes no time waiting, licking a stripe from his base to the head, then blows cool air onto the wet skin.

“Ah–” is what slips out of his mouth in an embarrassingly high pitch. Wonwoo’s hips jut upwards subconsciously at the coolness against his sensitive member, but the pressure of Minghao’s hand keeps them from going far. 

Minghao clicks his tongue as a wordless warning, quietly tapping his fingers against the hip bone before lowering his head once again. He’s mouthing at the base, sucking softly, moving up slowly. Then Minghao engulfs the head of his cock, swiping mindlessly at the bead of precome sitting on his slit before flattening his tongue against the vein underside his length. The warmth is addicting, it’s consuming Wonwoo; he wants to roll in it. 

There are sounds that are coming from his mouth that he doesn't recognize. Moans and pathetic babbles he would typically hide. But this time he doesn't, there’s no anxiety idling in the pit of his stomach, just pleasure. The head of brown curls begins to bob and Wonwoo makes the mistake of lifting his head slightly to watch. 

Minghao is gazing up at him with half lidded, glazed eyes. Wonwoo cries out a curse as he throws his head back, his cock twitching at the harsh suck and mind dispersing into thin air at the sight he just saw. He swears he can feel the boy smirk proudly around him before there’s a humming around his length and hollowed cheeks. The vibrations make Wonwoo’s hand tangle into soft brown hair, tugging at the strands as his back arches.

“Fuck, fuck.”

His sputtering of curses is nothing but music to the younger’s ears, melodies straight from heaven’s gate. Minghao takes as much of his length into his mouth as possible, sloppily sucking. Minghao is swallowing around his cock now. Minghao is driving him insane and it feels impossibly good, an arrangement of moans and whines high in his throat and limbs feeling like jello.

Wonwoo is close, the sensitivity his high is bringing him stirs the orgasm in his tummy, bringing it closer and closer to spilling over. Minghao can feel it, the way the cock in his mouth is pathetically twitching against his tongue and the lingering taste of precome are signs enough. But he’s not so pliant to the older boy, doesn't keen to his needs no matter how much his mind screams at him to. So instead of driving him into an orgasm, he’s slowly pulling his lips away from the base, dragging them up to the tip. He can't help but smile at the disappointed groan as he swirls his tongue once more, finally pulling away with a wet pop and a final kiss to his red tip.

“Bottom?” Minghao asks as he straightens his back, fingers trailing along the sensitive skin on the inside of Wonwoo’s thighs. Wonwoo simply responds with a slow nod. 

“I figured.”

Wonwoo wants the mattress to engulf him, not because he’s ashamed, no the weed took care of any nerves in his system, but because Minghao is looking at him with foggy, but glimmering eyes. His chest wants to cave in on itself at how small he feels under the boy despite his tall stature. Luckily enough, the peering eyes are off him and his skin is cool, empty, begging for contact once again. Minghao is shuffling through the bedside table, and Wonwoo watches on, admires his bare back.

His skin quiets its yearning for touch when Minghao throws a small bottle of lube and a condom next to him, quickly returning to grasp at his pale skin. He’s running his long fingers along Wonwoo’s sides, and the boy wants to laugh because it tickles but instead a shaky breath is drawn out. Then the same hands are spreading his legs, squeezing his thigh as they do so.

“Pretty.”

 _Oh_.How that makes every bone in his body liquify, drowning his insides with lava. Wonwoo can't ponder on the thought much because there’s a thumb circling his hole and the simple act of that is enough to override him. Minghao just watches intently, stares at the way Wonwoo’s hole flutters in excitement, begging to be filled. He’s pouring lube over his fingers, smearing some onto the boys entrance generously, eager to feed into the neediness. His finger is slowly intruding into the ring of muscles. The pace of the action causes Wonwoo’s hips to poorly attempt driving himself down onto it, but he feels like playdough; pliant. Minghao is curling his lips at the attempt, and brings himself down to suck at the juncture between the boys neck and shoulder.

He’s in, down to the knuckle with a sweet gasp to fill his ears alongside it. The pad of his finger adventures, presses against the boys walls and spreading the cool lube, thrusting slowly. Minghao is growing impatient, and Wonwoo proves to be doing the same as his hips weakly rut.

“More, Minghao. I think I’m gonna die soon,” Wonwoo says shakily. A quick airy laugh comes from both the intoxicated boys, warm breath against his neck causing a shiver to wrack through Wonwoo’s spine.

Minghao is compliant, sliding another finger past the rim. He’s quick to begin scissoring, stretching the hole that’s attempting to swallow him completely. A third finger joins after a few moments and Wonwoo is trying to spread his legs wider, sluttily welcoming the stretch and yearning for more. The warmth and tightness that surrounds his digits is calling to the hardened cock in Minghao’s pants. His mind is sickeningly exhilarated to fill the heat with his own length soon.

“Feel good?” Minghao is smiling smally, a tinge of mischievousness behind his warm, hazy eyes. Wonwoo can’t answer because his breath is hitched in his throat at the shameless prodding Minghao does to his prostate, abusing it like a useless toy.

“Oh god just fuck me already,” Wonwoo sobs out, thrashing lightly, knuckles white as he fists the blanket beneath him.

Minghao complies, sliding his three digits from their place between Wonwoo’s legs agonizingly slow. He’s nibbling at the older boys neck once again, gentle curls tickling his cheek as he leaves marks. But then Wonwoo is empty, hole sucking onto nothing but air, skin untouched once again. 

Minghao is sitting up between his legs, making work of his own pants and underwear. Wonwoo watches the boy roll a condom onto his member, his breath coming back to him and heart slowing. But it only lasts for a few moments before Minghao is leaning over top of him again, lips against the corner of his, teasingly. The raven head is warm again, blood rushing to his ears and his heartbeat quickening. The only thing he can think of is Minghao, every system in his body calling out to him like oxygen.

Then all at once there’s a firm hand on Wonwoo’s hip as a cock is lined up with his entrance. And when Minghao is finally pushing into the warmth, Wonwoo’s eyes are snapped shut and he moans at the fullness. He’s down to the hilt and Wonwoo convinces himself that this is what pure bliss is; Minghao’s cock fully sheathed in his ass.

“Ah-ah,” Minghao tuts, “look at me while I fuck you, Wonwoo.”

Wonwoo doesn't second guess how easily he obeys, doesn’t think about how he prys his eyes open to stare at the boy with a low groan. It’s the high, it makes him feel he’s like playdough, easy to grab and shape into whatever you could ever want. But it’s also the way that every time he’s ever fucked someone, it’s never been this intimate. It’s always been quick foreplay, a quick fuck, no kisses, no staring into each others eyes or sharing words. Minghao is the opposite, he’s slow, he gazes, and it makes Wonwoo’s chest seize up because it’s all new, it’s enticing, and he’s beyond sensitive to every touch.

His thrusts are languid. Minghao is taking his time, hands holding onto hips and ravishing in the tightness around his cock. He’s quiet but there's small grunts, seething breaths when the wet walls around him clench harshly, pulling him in more. It doesn't help that Wonwoo looks completely fucked out already, as if he had already gone through a round or two. Black hair splayed around his flushed face, eyes lulling shut and back curling upwards. 

“More.” A hand is reaching out to pull the younger closer by the shoulders.

“Harder.” His glassy eyes are looking into Minghao’s, wrapping his legs around his waist and digging his heels into his back. 

There’s a choked sound that Minghao swallows as he presses his lips against Wonwoo’s. He’s driving his hips harshly into Wonwoo without a second thought, relishing in all the sounds he is making against his mouth. The elder pulls away to hiss when his prostate is grazed, the hands on Minghao’s shoulders digging nails into the soft skin, pulling a low mewl from him.

“That–” he begins throatily, mind slow to form words, “that feels good. Do it again.” 

“You’re so tight, fuck,” Minghao mumbles against his skin as he angles his hips, insisting on degrading Wonwoo’s sweet spot.

There it is. The pressure against his prostate, again and _again_. Wonwoo has never felt it feel this good, make it feel like fireworks of pure pleasure are being set off in his veins. He’s now a believer in the sex while high is better trope because every sense of his is hightened, Minghao smells good, feels good, looks good, and the way his cock is belittling that little spot in him is godly. It’s bringing tears to his red eyes, a shake to his thighs and pulling out the most grotesque sounds from his chest. It would be embarrassing if he wasn't on cloud nine, but he is and even then he’s so enamored by the boy fucking him, so influenced, he’s happy to look like a whore, to sound like one.

Wonwoo isn't processing when his own hand drops from the boys shoulder, sliding between them to grab at his untouched cock. He doesn't make it far before Minghao is stopping him, gripping the base of his leaking member. Minghao doesn't let up his rough thrusts, fingers squeezing around the length before running his thumb to dig into the underside of it’s tip. The first tear slips from Wonwoo’s eyes, his mouth pitifully latching onto skin to suckle a hickey into.

“I’m close, please,” Wonwoo says against the mark he’s made, hot breath fanning onto wet skin.

Minghao lightens his thrusts, slows them to the lazy, unrushed pace he started with, purposely just misses the elder’s prostate. He begins to pump the heavy cock in his hand to the same pace, giving generously tight squeezes to the base when he reaches it, delighted at the sob that follows.

“Please?”

“Faster, please just go faster.” His voice breaks weakly, and his words are practically slurred, mind caught up in the high and the bliss. 

With a particularly cruel swab at his cockhead, wet with precome, Minghao hums against his skin. He’s mumbling something in a language Wonwoo can't understand, but he can't sit to think because there’s hips pistoning into him, driving all thoughts from his head. He’s squirming relentlessly, his member twitching as the heat in his gut is rising. He’s so close and every touch feels better than the last, every time Minghao’s thumb is at his slit, Wonwoo is one step closer to descending into madness. There’s landmines under his skin and the younger boy seems to know exactly where they are, pressing into them, setting them off and destroying Wonwoo more and more.

Skin against skin, Minghao’s low moans next to his face, the sound of his own rough voice, it’s all filling Wonwoo’s ears. Then there’s white noise, his eyes that he was fighting to stay open are rolling into the back of his head. He’s cumming, hard. The orgasm wracks through him, from his toes to the tips of his fingers. There’s warm ropes of cum covering Minghao’s hands and leaking onto his abdomen. His legs are shaking, their hold around Minghao’s waist weakening, back is arched so mercilessly that his chest is right against the others.

“Minghao, Minghao, _Minghao_ ,” he’s chanting through heavy breaths and tears, chest shaking and nearly void of oxygen. 

His hole is still holding onto the cock that’s thrusting unevenly inside him, beyond oversensitive but still begging to be full. Minghao follows, the way his own member is being seized within warm walls driving him over the edge and straight into insanity. He’s panting out Wonwoo’s name, spilling cum into the condom with lazy thrusts and pressing open wet kisses to his elder’s jaw.

They’re both thoughtless, mind blown, skin on fire. Neither have words, neither can form any after their orgasms. Minghao is pulling out after a few moments, discarding of the soiled condom as Wonwoo comes back to his senses-- whatever senses he has in this state. They’re slowly cleaning each other, Minghao still insistent on pressing gentle kisses to Wonwoo’s bruised lips through lidded eyes. When they’re done, both in briefs once again, shirts covering their chests, they're sitting quietly against the wall, thighs touching. It’s quiet, but it’s welcomed. 

“I’m hungry,” Wonwoo mutters through a sore and dry throat, slightly fearful to break the silence that both their muddled minds are in need of. 

Minghao laughs, and it’s just as pretty as it has been every other moment.

“Yeah, it’s called the munchies.”

**Author's Note:**

> ok first fic for svt done... please leave comments! ideas! anything :] im excited to write more for them
> 
> hope u enjoyed !! more to come for carats aha 8]


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